Not Heroic
by Newtinmpls
Summary: Jem - Inhumanoids crossover. I don't much care for Eric Raymond, I don't like time-travel stories and I definetly don't like Blackthorne Shore. Apparently enough negatives make a positive. Or enough caffeine.


_Author's note: I do NOT own a copy of Christy Marx' 'The Jem Bible', so I am definetly not up on any details not found in the series itself or the various wikis. Feel free to PM me if you know something that I missed. This story is based on inspiration from another author on this site; Gracekim1_

 **Disclaimer: Not mine, none of it, sadly. Depending on date and exact content, everything in the Jem-verse is or was the property of Hasbro, Christy Marx, Sunbow, Integrity Toys and probably a few other companies or writers out there. No profit is being made from this (by me, anyway). As a side-note, it appears that the Jem-verse may actually overlap the Hasbro cartoon world(s) of G. I. Joe, The Inhumanoids and the Transformers, as apparently at least one character appeared in all four series.**

 **~~Late Night on The Road~~**

Sitting quietly in the dark, Eric Raymond stared out the window of his hotel room. The annoying red display of the digital alarm by the bed read 0350. Ten minutes later than the last time he'd looked at it. He swore softly under his breath and took another sip of the expensive scotch that he'd charged to room service. The ice was melting, but the drink was still strong. Finally a quiet night. The Misfits had actually fallen asleep. He knew, because the monitor Teckrat had slipped into their room showed them lying tangled in blankets and pillows in front of the artificial fireplace. They'd been telling each other ghost stories, of all things, and fallen asleep hours ago.

He didn't have to beg Pizzaz to quiet down. He didn't have to sweet-talk Roxie into not breaking another guitar. He could finally get a decent night's sleep on this tour. But he couldn't seem to sleep.

His head ached and he pressed the glass to his right temple. "Why do I even keep this job?" He muttered to the empty room. "The Misfits are more trouble than they're worth." Even in the dark of the room, he caught a faint glint of the rolex on his right wrist. He knew very well why he kept this job. The money was good. Very good. Mostly good enough. That and other things... things he wasn't going to think about right now.

A hissing crackle brought his attention to the small Ipad display that Techrat had setup on the nearby desk. The quiet view of the sleeping Misfits was suddenly obscured by a burst of static.

He frowned. "What in the -"

Another crackle, and then the thing gave off a high pitched whine that seemed to cut through his head like a knife. He lurched out of his chair, leaving his drink on the small table next to it, intending to grab the iPad and smash it. Or at least turn the sound off.

"You have to listen to me. You have to believe me." The haggard and panicked sounding voice coming from the iPad was his own voice.

Was this some kind of joke that Techrat was playing?

He picked up the Ipad, and a sharp jolt of static electricity jumped to his rolex. He saw a small blue flash in the darkness of the hotel room.

"This isn't a joke. You've got to believe me."

Looking down at the small screen in his hand, Eric saw himself. Or at any rate someone that looked amazingly like him. But the hair was much too long. He had at least a week's growth of not-very-well-kept beard. And this other version of him was wearing oversized patterned clothing that looked like some sort of military camouflage sort of thing. He was filthy. His eyes were bloodshot.

"You were drinking." The half-crazed looking face in the iPad told him. "You were trying to sleep, after the Misfits fell asleep. Ghost stories, that was it." The words were clipped and hasty. "I know you won't believe me." The 'other Eric' laughed bitterly. "I didn't believe me, so of course you won't, because you are me."

"What...?" He'd fallen asleep, that must be it. This had to be a dream.

"I know Techrat only set up one-way surveilance, so even though he managed to hack into his own system, it's one-way only. I can't hear you." The other Eric was turning around now. Smoke and dust and rubble. That's all that was behind him. Chunks of cement with twisted metal poles protruding. A scrawny hand reached out toward the screen, and Eric heard a too-familar whine.

"I told you not to move too far from the primary transmitter! You'll corrupt the signal!" Techrat was holding some kind of contraption under his arm. Eric had seen many of his crazy inventions, and this one was even weirder than usual. A collection of what looked like dissembled and half-rebuilt computers, and possibly an old television or something. Eric was pretty sure he was seeing the type of old tubes that had been used in decades ago in old televisions or something. In the chunks of casing there he could make out at least one Apple logo, and another part looked like a Hewlett-Packard logo.

The other Eric gave another burst of high pitched laughter. "I told you you've already done this. I remember it, and it's not going to last much longer anyway." He turned back to face the screen. "The next time you talk to Harvey Gabor, he'll mention a man named Blackthorne Shore. Don't do what he wants."

Eric shook his head. "Who ever you are, you're drunk." He glanced at the remains of his own drink. "I'm drunk." He said. "That's it, I'm drunk and this is a bad dream." He glared at the screen. "It's not real. You aren't real."

"Stop Blackthorne Shore." Repeated the other Eric.

"I don't even know who that-"

"Because if you don't - and I didn't - this time I didn't - but you get another chance - if you don't stop him - then Pickles dies."

Eric hissed in disbelief. No one knew that name. No one.

The iPad gave a quiet his of static, and then the display went back to the sleeping Misfits.

"You can't just..." He was talking to no one.

On the screen, Pizzaz opened her mouth slightly and started snoring.

Carefully he set the iPad back onto it's base. Slowly and carefully he walked back to the chair, picked up his drink, and then finished it. As the liquor burned it's way to his stomach, his jaw clenched.

"Static. A band dream." He set the glass back down. He ignored the tremble in his hand. "Means nothing."


End file.
